This is kinda a new topic for me cos I havent really written anything much from Guy's perspective before so apologies if its not very good.
I originally wrote this for a fanfic challenge on another forum, but it was too long so I decided to submit it here instead. Enjoy. Please R&R if you think its any good. xx
--
Guy jerked awake, scattering bitter dreams of blood, betrayal and burials. He twisted, clawing at his shirt, making to wipe away the blood that...
It was gone. She was gone. And it was his fault.
The room was hot and airless. He couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in on him; angry, and thirsty for blood. It was his fault. His lungs were being crushed in a tight, hot vacuum, compressed inwards. His skin prickled; hot needles burnt his flesh. His body was on fire, burning, charring. The fire within him was destroying him from the inside out. He couldn't cry out. He couldn't move. It was his fault.
Marian was dead because of him.
He screwed into a tight ball, clutching his head as a ripple of white hot agony pulsed through him. Crimson blood pooled from the corner of his mouth, making him relive her death a thousand times.
He had. To get. Out.
Gasping for breath, he ran as fast as he could, as if he was running from the demons of Satan themselves. The cold night air hit him full in the face, like a branch, stinging his eyes like acid.
Ran as fast as he could to the place where only he could come; where his nightmares would not dare to enter. Only memories could linger here. Her presence was too strong.
Marian had not been the first. She was the second; the second coming of salvation. And he had chosen evil.
But the first; the first time, he had taken the right path. For a short while, he had ventured into the light.
He knelt by the grave.
His fingers traced the smooth stone. The stone he'd carved himself for her. She'd been only sixteen; the same age as him.
Gazing at the stone; he allowed the barrier between him and his most painful memories to melt. And sank into the wonderful, raw memories that had once graced his life.
--
He was lying on the bare floorboards, shaking in pain from the beating his father had given him. Blood trickled in tiny rivulets down his side where his father's belt had torn the flesh in his anger. He crawled to his knees; catching his reflection in the glass of the window.
Repulsion and disgust filled him. If he seemed this weak and pathetic, it was no wonder his father beat him. Maybe it was for his own good.
Bending over the bowl, he splashed water on his face, almost crying in pain as he stretched the wounds further than they wanted to move. Blood bubbled across his stomach, smearing the skin in stark scarlet. There were three; raised, throbbing, and pulsing blood.
He staggered over to the window, letting the cool air bathe his face.
He twisted in alarm; giving a yell of pain; as a scream distracted him from his meanderings. Large brown eyes searched wildly, scanning the forest he loved, till they focused on a figure; high up in a tree; a girl, clinging to a straining branch that was threatening to snap.
It was a long way to fall.
For a second, his conscience wanted to leave her. It was her fault she was in the tree. She should get out herself.
Then the ice around his heart softened a little, allowing his heart to constrict a little in fear. Regardless of the wounds; he snatched on a shirt, flung open the window and clambered out, swinging himself down to the scorched earth.
Part of him had always wanted to be a hero. Like in all those stories he'd filched from his father's library. He ran faster and faster, unheeding the burning ground which scorched the soles of his feet with the heat of the summer sun.
The girl was slipping. He ran faster, barely touching the scalding ground, until he reached the forest.
He looked up, and nearly fell as the world tilted sickeningly at an odd angle. It was too high. He was almost passing out just looking up, but looking down was another thing entirely.
He swallowed, pressing his face against the bole of the tree. He gritted his teeth, willing himself not to be weak. He had to be strong.
Taking a deep breath, he clambered onto the lowest branch, swinging himself up, focusing only on the girl and not on his fear. Heroes didn't get scared.
It was much higher up than he'd realised. He'd managed not to look down as he climbed, centring his mind on the tree.
The girl screamed again, this time more urgently. The branch jolted, tilting downwards. It was starting to tear away from the trunk.
He moved faster, clambering sure-footedly up the tree, like a goat on a mountain cliff. He realised he actually quite liked it up there.
Soon she was in view. He scrambled higher and higher, trying not to lose his foothold on the dry bark. She was pale, with long gold hair and large soulful eyes that looked right through him. She was too far away. He hooked his ankle around one branch, holding himself in place and reached out.
He couldn't reach. Lying across the widest part of the tree, where the bole split, he hung over the edge and stretched as far as he could.
She looked up at him, eyes wide and frightened. He reached down. "Take my hand!" he yelled. "You'll fall." "I won't, just take my hand!" She stretched upwards, reluctant to let go of the branch. He grabbed the outstretched arm. "Let go of the branch!" he called down. "You're too far over. I'll drag us both down."
He shuffled backwards slightly. Suddenly the branch she was clinging on to tore clean away from the trunk and he lurched forward to take her full weight as she screamed.
Snatching her other hand, he hoisted her up and into his arms, balancing precariously on the split branch. She held onto him tight, and he could still feel her shaking as she whispered a thank-you in his ear.
After he'd calmed down from his own near brush with death, Guy couldn't help feeling a small sense of euphoria. He had been a hero. He wasn't weak.
And then he looked down.
And swore.
"Um..." he began, "this probably won't be a good time to mention it but...I think I'm stuck."
He gulped as he looked down. The girl laughed, "So while you were rushing to save me you forgot all about your fear, but now you're a hundred feet up in the air and you've suddenly realised you're afraid of heights?"
"Uh...Yeah."
She climbed out of his lap, onto the nearest branch. "Come on. You have to conquer your fear sometime."
His eyes turned into saucers. She laughed. "How can someone so brave be afraid of a bit of air? That's all it is." She reached over to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes and the action sent a shiver of delight tingling down his spine.
She held out a hand. "Come on."
He seized her hand and held on tight, feeling his fear evaporate as their skin touched.
He could do this.
Surprising himself, he looked down at the ground. This time, it no longer frightened him. There was no longer the shiver of terror that had emerged and erupted through his veins like fire. With agility he didn't know he had, Guy descended down the tree, holding onto her hand.
Gracefully, he leapt to the ground from a couple of metres up.
She grinned at him, and the smile sent pleasure erupting through him like a volcano, warming him inside.
"See, you can do it."
--
Sitting back against the stone, he smiled at the memory.
He remembered how she'd loved the forest; how he'd taken her to a secret clearing, just for them, and they'd talked for hours. He remembered the warm glow of the sinking sun, in vibrant, fiery shades of gold and ruby, violet and amber that illuminated her face, her golden hair. He remembered how her large grey eyes twinkled when she found something especially funny, and crinkled up when she was happy.
He loved everything about her.
Impulsively, he'd leant over and allowed their lips to melt together, hearts beating as one, minds thinking as one, and for a few beautiful seconds, they were one and whole.
And in that instant, he knew, he'd never love another person as deeply and fully as he loved her, even if he waited his whole life.
She reached over and kissed him back passionately, her fingers stroking his dark hair, and in that instant, he learnt what it was like to love, and to be loved.
Starved of affection, care and love, for so many years, the teenage Guy held on tightly to her, as though if he let her go, she'd disappear and fade back into nothingness.
--
He remembered her laugh, cool and clear, like the bubbling of water at a mountain spring. It was infectious. She had always been so full of life and love.
He remembered watching her swim in the river, and panicking when she hadn't resurfaced. Then she'd burst upwards, startling him and dragging him in after her.
The water had been refreshing and wonderful, but the touch of her hands on his skin was pure magic.
He remembered how well she swam, better than a fish; he'd said, and she'd laughed. She was an angel, but better still, she was his angel, come to salvage him from the depths of his despair and loneliness.
He remembered how they'd clambered out and laid in the sun to dry, and he knew that he would've lain there forever, content to just be with her.
--
Now it was winter, and they were huddle together in the tree. Snow lined the world, the branches in a heavy dusting of cold, white ice.
It was beautiful. Blood red crimson berries, dark green ivy, pure white snow. She'd always loved the winter. So harsh, untamed, so raw. And so beautiful. She'd always been able to see the good, where others could see only the bad. The villagers knew it as bitterly and deadly cold; a shortage of food and supplies; and the death and disease it wrought.
She could see a thousand shades of grey he never knew existed. Black and white for him ceased to be as she taught him to see through the kaleidoscope whirlwind of colours she saw. She could see the good in him too, when no-one else could. She was the one to separate that tangled knot inside him; the pain, the anger, the frustration. She could understand him.
And then, just as suddenly as she had come, she was taken away from him again. They were attacked by peasants as they left their childhood haven. Angered by his father's sins, by the evil he had wrought; they drove a knife through her heart as he watched.
He watched her eyes contract in surprise and pain, the blue eyes huge and terrified. Then the peasants scattered. She dropped like a stone into his arms. He screamed her name. Tears poured bitterly like the blood from her body down his face. She murmured his name. "There is good in your heart." She had whispered. "Let others see it." "Don't go." He had pleaded with her, his tears mingling with hers.
"I love you, so, so much." "I love you too. Stay with me, please." He sobbed. "It's my time to go." He voice was growing fainter. "No. No. Don't leave me alone." He begged, his voice cracking. "Don't leave me alone in the dark." "You'll never be alone." She whispered. "Look up at the stars, and I will be there, watching over you. Forever."
Her voice faded into nothingness as blood drained from the still body, sapping her life until it was time.
She was gone.
--
Now he was watching a fresh covered grave, the crumbled earth meaning little to him, save to hold the person he'd held dearest in life in an oblivion of timeless death. The villagers watched him coldly, eyes of ice. It was not their loss. They cared little for his grief. It was their fault. They would pay. Every single last one of them.
His heart hardened, encased in ice as he remembered lowering the cold, still body into the grave he'd dug himself, wishing with all his heart that he could have gone with her into the beyond. The tears on his cheek froze. If he never let another soul near to his again, then he would never feel this burning anguish and grief, never feel the tortuous loss of someone he cared so deeply about. His resolve stiffened.
The peasants would pay for her death. He would destroy every last one. And he would never let anyone get close to him ever again.
Then he would never hurt this bad.
He was empty now, drained of all compassion, love and emotion. Raw anger alone kept him going. The people would pay.
--
He drifted back to himself beside the grave. The grave he'd dug himself for her, after he'd betrayed her trust. He'd taken his revenge; spilt their blood.
He laid a handful of flowers beside the stone. They were her favourites.
Snowdrops. Purity and innocence. The love that had been destroyed.
He stroked the grass back, pressing his face against the warm earth, feeling her presence.
She hadn't abandoned him throughout all this.
He looked up at the stars and saw her face looking back at him.
"I love you." He whispered.